


Salt of The Earth

by orphan_account



Category: B:TS, Beyond Two Souls, Beyond: Two Souls, Jay - Fandom, Jodie Holmes - Fandom
Genre: Everybody Lives, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-14
Updated: 2013-10-14
Packaged: 2017-12-29 10:22:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1004260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the world of darkness and presence leaves one so alone, what do they seek out? Many people are born with a home, few people find it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Salt of The Earth

Life had given Jodie a chance to think, to reminisce in the silence of the mountain’s embrace and rest as the tranquil streams passed over the faces of worn rocks. The cabin she took shelter in was one of little warmth, and even less comfort; a simple house robbed of any chance at being a home. The tattered façade of the door spoke measures to the state that lye on the other side. Days; an endless blur of memories, pages ripped and tossed, tears, and nightmares. The nightmares above-all-else seemed inescapable now. They lingered in the webs of spiders seeking warmth from winter’s chill. They crept along the crevices as the cold seeped in as a rushing river, clasping a hold the entirety of the house, consuming it, unhinging its ghastly jaw and swallowing with paralysing force. 

Jodie sat, back facing the north, and body onlooking the south, a worn clay mug resting between her gently shaking knees. The warmth of the dirtied orange clay oozed its presence, banishing away the brisk wind that had a coveted hold on the early mornings. 

Thoughts lingered on the worn treads they always had, mulling over the same question, and receiving the same tattered response.

She was alone, lonely, and yet the thought of Ryan chilled her even more. Winter would be coming soon, and the chilled streets of a city, and the colder memories that haunted his features banished the warmth the woman so desperately desired.

Closing her eyes, the woman felt emotions creeping behind her fastened lids. Sealing tighter, hot salty tears poured through the forest of lashes, dripping down onto flushed cheeks, and then onto the wood of the porch below.

The softness of the tears brought about an uncommon peace. As the hot trails dissipated into chilled lines, Jodie remembered the warmth. 

She remembered comfort and peace.

The desert was hot, unbearably hot. The sun baked down onto solid clay, and salty sweat, not tears, beaded down her face. The blazing rays reflected up from the black asphalt, drying any moisture from the lungs and throat, and erasing all thought but the heat around you. It was however, when the deathly heat subsided and brought rise to the lingering coolness of dusk, that the desert came alive. The warmth still enveloped you, and as it did the blankets of stars were rolled out across the sky, twisting around the spires of rock and sand; beckoning the snake and mouse from their homes. The house of Paul smelt of spices, indicative of comfort and warmth. There Jodie found no prying eyes, or snatching hands, or scheming words, only the welcoming embrace of a family. 

Jodie remembered Jay, the strong featured man who, with work, just as the stubborn mustang Ashkii, opened and flourished to her presence. He smelt of charred wood, the freshness of dirt, and the musk of the farm. His voice lent tones of what felt like leather, a hardy material and yet soft and supple to the wearer. His gaze, above all else was memorable, lost moments were spent staring blankly into the canvas of his soul, taking in the look of every fleck and tinge of colour. 

In his arms, Jodie had found peace and knowledge. She had learned so much of herself, of Aiden in the heat of the desert and the comfort of the Dineh. 

She had felt at peace, whole,

Warm.

Setting her cup down amongst the slivered railing, Jodie entered the house, grasping her worn leather pouch, and began stuffing her clothing in without thought or particular care. It was as if the winter were a pursuer, chasing her with furious intent, and she was running, always running. This time, thankfully, she knew where too.

Sliding her weathered feet into the cracked leather boots, the woman sighed, weighed with worry in the flurry of movements. 

Will I be welcomed?  
Laces crossed over, passing through eyelets. 

What if he’s moved on? Found someone?  
The brown lace caught on the metal hooks firmly, syncing up tightly. 

Finally, a bow was formed and her feet were planted firmly on the wooden floor, finding their way out the door, across chunked gravel and sparse grass towards a small shed coated in a thin film of flaking paint. Fingers pressed against the lock, spinning the dials to their appointed numbers, and only after that, did the click of the lock signal the starting of a life she had never left.

As the shed doors flung open, caught in the breeze of the morning, the scent of gasoline drifted from the rusted bike standing in solitude, hinging precariously on the weakened stand. A smile, the first smile in months graced Jodie’s features as her hands drifted over the worn seat, over the gas-tank and motor, settling on the grooved handles of the motorcycle. 

"Maybe there’s still some juice in this old Indian after all." The woman noted, flinging her back over her shoulders as her leg hitched over the machine. Turning the handle, using her feet to push into the floor, pushing her forward, the motorcycle seemed to move with ease, coasting over the ridge of the shed onto the awaiting gravel. 

Looking back, the woman remembered taking in her last view of the mountains, snow covered peaks and threatening angles. There was beauty, fondness, love even, but not enough. 

Pushing down, the bike roared to life beneath her feet, and from there the open road led her home. Her path was covered in the familiar sights, large cities with towering buildings that made a person feel small. Jodie was so tired of feeling small. Open landscapes of farms, littered with grain and the simplicity of life. 

Soon however, as winter seemed to creep back, receding into a place left for only nightmares and childhood fears, the warmth stared. Slowly at first, as if testing her, asking her permission, and then consuming. The road laid bare before her, the orange desert staring back, and an endless landscape twisted her stomach. The closer she came, the more she felt him. She could hear Jay’s voice, powerful stare, and overwhelming presence, she could feel Cory’s jovial nature, the softness he held that countered the harshness of Jay’s disposition. She could see Paul’s smile, and feel Shimasani’s worn hands rested within hers. 

The bike spurred forward with an unfamiliar force, pulling her to them, towards the family that had welcomed her without qualm.

And then, she saw it. A small farm, littered with discarded wood and twisting foreign trees. It had rained recently, the dirt held a wet warmth that made Jodie smile. The harshness of the heat had subsided for the day, and the freshness of the rain had brought an unusual life to the orange sand. Animals were out early, either forced from their homes by the rain, or basking in the refreshing air that followed. 

As she pulled in, tires curling into the dirt, motor revving forward, signalling her arrival, Jodie watched as both men turned with astonishment. 

Kicking the stand, Jodie swung her leg over, a smile gracing her features. The uncommon emotion of happiness was becoming more familiar, and as Jay turned, taking her in, and rushing forward, the happiness, though littered with the remnants of fear, exploded. 

She was home.


End file.
